Queen of the Black Veil
by The Extreme Piercing
Summary: "I claim you for my own," Bêlit said. "I will glorify you. I will venerate you. Become my consort. Become my queen. We will rule the oceans together, my Valkyrie of Etro." Femslash, with a special guest star from a classic Robert E. Howard story. Lightning/Bêlit
1. Chapter 1

**Lightning and Final Fantasy XIII are the intellectual property of Square Enix. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Bêlit was created by Robert E. Howard in his 1934 Conan the Barbarian story, Queen of the Black Coast. **

**This fic will eventually feature f/f content, so don't invest time in reading this fic if that's going to be a problem.**

**Minor, minor content warning: This fic will include brief verbal references to non-consensual relationships, but if that bothers you, don't worry, there will not be a single hint of actual sexual assault or coercion in this story whatsoever.**

**Queen of the Black Veil**

The _Argus_ was a merchant vessel, but it did not sail the oceans. It carried cargo from port to port and city to city, but it did not soar through the skies, or drift among the stars. The _Argus_ was a traveller of the _multiverse;_ it journeyed from one plane of existence to another.

In one reality, water was scarce, and very, very expensive – in another, water was abundant, and clean, and very, very cheap. In one reality, people lived to the age of thirty, and died of diseases, and infections, and rotten teeth – in another, the inhabitants had healed cancer, and learned how to replace missing limbs, and discovered the secret of immortality. In one reality, the inhabitants fought with magic, and advanced technology – in another, they fought with swords, and spears, and axes, and clubs, and magic and technology fetched a mighty price indeed

The _Argus_ wandered through the multiverse, and sought these patterns out. Here and there throughout the cosmos, the laws of physics, chemistry thermodynamics, time and causality warped and changed – but the universal principle of supply and demand was always, always the same.

One day, a woman approached the captain of the _Argus_ as it rested at the docks. "So I hear you're headed to Arius," she said. "I need a ride on your ship."

The captain was a shrewd judge of character – as captains must often be. He peered at the traveller, and understood at once that this was a woman that had crossed a great, tremendous distance. This woman had seen many worlds, and laid eyes upon many realms, and many cultures, and many races. The cloak that fell around her shoulders was thick and hardy and intended for the rain – and the snow, and the cold – and from the elegant craftsmanship, the captain could tell that she had obtained it in the distant world of Arcaddar. Her boots were battered and worn, but despite how faded they had become, the captain could still tell that they had been cobbled in the faraway Elave system. She wore armour, also – weathered and dented, but clearly exquisitely made, hammered into shape by the most expert blacksmith. Valhalla, perhaps?

"Ye be seekin' passage, eh?" the captain said. "And what would a little creature such as yournself have to offer the crew of this vessel?"

"I'm a soldier," the woman replied. "I was told pirates sometimes attack ships crossing the Black Veil. I can defend your crew."

Hmmm. _A soldier._ The woman came up to about the captain's chest. She had arms like pencils, and there wasn't much muscle on her legs – the captain wasn't a expert on biology, but he knew enough to know that, in order for an organism to be strong and powerful, it needed a little _meat on the bones._

"A soldier?" the captain murmured, skeptical. "You're a bit_...small..._for the fighting sort."

"Then where do you think I got this armour?" The woman parted her cloak, and the captain caught a glimpse of a black pommel. "And this sword?"

"Ye could have stolen it," the captain replied. "Wouldn't be the first charlatan to swindle her way onto my ship."

The woman closed her eyes, and sighed. "I'm going to withdraw my sword from my scabbard," she explained. "Don't panic, I'm not attacking you. I just want to show you."

The captain pondered this a moment, and then nodded his assent.

The woman unveiled her weapon, and the captain's eyes widened. Silver, and sharp, and intricately, painstakingly crafted. How many hundreds of hours had an artisan slaved over this blade?

The woman gave a satisfied half-smile. "Take me on board," she said. "If I'm not what I say I am, you'll have a nice, priceless sword to hawk for compensation."

"And if ye _are_?"

The smile reached the other side of her mouth. "Then you can try _taking_ it from me."

The captain stared at her...and then burst out laughing. "Fair enough, Miss Soldier!" he barked. "We'll have ye on board! Ye can be our _protector_ for the voyage. What shall we call ye?"

"Lightning," the woman replied. "Lightning Farron."

()()()()()()()()()

The _Argus'_ sails were raised, but it was not _wind_ that carried ships through the multiverse. It was _music._

One melody conveyed a vessel to the shores of Serastrium; another, carried a ship to the harbours of Ambros. One melody sent a ship to the islands of Promendesia; another, to the world of Magestra. Sailors pricked their ears to the sky, and tried to discern the strain of music that would bring them to their destination.

When ships sailed across the supernal ether that divided the realms of being, they were not immersed by the normal sounds that accompany a vessel. Sailors across the Veil did not hear the chopping of water, or the whistling of wind, or the crash of waves against rocks, or the dull, unceasing roar of the depths. When ships sailed across the multiverse, they were enveloped by the faint spectre of music; hymns, and chants, and anthems, and arias, and lullabies.

The captain found the melody that would lead them to Arius, and the _Argus_ set sail.

The _Argus_ took its crew from all over the multiverse, and as a result, the ship was manned by a variety of creatures, of all shapes and sizes. There were gigantic spiders that could scramble up the mast and repair tears in the sails with their silk. There were large rat men, immune to all the sicknesses and diseases that often afflicted seafarers. There was a Siren, an ethereal creature with the lower quarters of a fish and the upper body of a young woman, whose beautiful voice could carry for miles and miles.

The captain himself was an elephant that walked about on his hind legs. Serah would have found him _so_ adorable, Lightning knew.

Lightning did her best to stay out of the crew's way. One afternoon, the captain approached her as she stood at the bow, gazing out across the ghostly ocean that separated the worlds of the universe. "Any threats on the horizon?" he asked.

Lightning turned, and gave one of her part-smiles. "I don't see anything," she said.

Joining her, the captain rested his hooves on the railing, and peered out across the waters. "What business has Miss Farron in Arius?" he said, after a few moments' silence.

"None, really," Lightning replied. "It's a just step on the way. I'm trying to get home."

"And where is Miss Farron from?"

"Pulse."

"_Pulse?"_ the captain said, spluttering. "Ye be a long, long way from home."

Lightning nodded. "I know."

"And how did ye come to be wandering the cosmos, Miss Farron?"

She did not answer, at first. Her eyes searched the ocean. "I guess you could say I just fell through the cracks of reality," she said.

()()()()()()()()()()()

After three weeks at sea, a melody was heard on the wind. A melody distinct from the music that was bearing them towards Arius. A frantic melody. A fearful melody.

The sailors rushed to the starboard side, and leaned over the edge, straining to hear, hushing those who were speaking or making noise. The music came to them, over the rustling of the sails, and the creaking of the ship. It was fretful. Frightened. Desperate.

"A distress call," said one.

Lightning did her best to hear. "What does it mean?" she whispered.

"Each ship that crosses the cosmos has a Siren as a member of its crew," one of the sailors explained. "Or at least if they have any _sense,_ they do. When a ship runs into trouble, the Siren's voice can be heard miles away. She can call other ships for help."

"Or warn them to stay away," another sailor muttered.

Lightning listened closely, and the entire crew fell silent, allowing the Siren's voice to wash over them. After a while, they were able to discern a certain _lyricism_ in the music. _Words_ were being spoken. A message was being delivered. _Be...eee...be...eee...Beli...Beli..._

"Bêlit."

A wave of dread began passing through the crew.

"Well, we had a good run."

"We're dead."

"This is no damned warship! We're not soldiers! Oh, why did I set foot on this boat? I should have got a job in a factory!"

"Alright, save the tears for when you're in your bloody bunks!" the captain barked. "Every crewmember to his post! I want a pair of hands on every damned oar! We'll get as much distance from them as we can!"

"Wait, what's going on?" Lightning demanded, sailors elbowing and shouldering their way past her. "Who is Bêlit?"

"The wildest she-devil that prowls the Veil."

"She's a pirate. The Queen of the Black Veil, she calls herself."

Lightning briefly considered grabbing hold of an oar herself, but then thought better of it – if a fight was ahead, it made no sense to waste her strength. Instead, she crouched next to a large spider that was working three oars at once. "What happens if Bêlit catches us?" she asked.

"She will slay us all, steal our cargo, and send our ship and our corpses to the bottom," the spider said.

"She's not the sort who's gonna accept a peaceful surrender, huh?"

"She has a reputation to maintain."

"A reputation?"

"Yeah. People tell stories about her in the ports and taverns. They say she's unimaginably beautiful, like a goddess, but there's a fire in her eyes like a demon. She commands a ship called the _Tigress_, and its crewed by the worse scumbags in the multiverse. She sinks trading ships, and burns coastal towns to the ground, and she covers herself with the blood of her enemies, and tears out her opponents' throats with her teeth. Now, do you mind? It's kinda hard to row and talk at the same time," said the talking spider.

From below, rifles and swords and nets and daggers were carried up onto the deck. "If they catch us, we're no match for them," the captain said, "but let's see if we can leave a few _scars_ behind to remind them of us."

()()()()()()()()()()

The _Tigress_ was borne through the seas by its own, singular melody. Clubs beating on drums. Horns blowing. The sound of war.

After a full day of sailing, a hand called from the stern. _"There she is!"_

A crowd formed at the rear, gazing out across the sea. There was a long, black, serpentine galley, forty oars at either side, eighty oarsmen beating a course through the ether towards them. On the deck, a horde of creatures were gathered; humanoid things with the heads of bulls, humanoid things with the heads of snakes, giant insectile organisms, hulking brutes covered in armour, all armed with swords and hammers and chains and maces, all cheering and shouting, all spoiling for a fight. Above their heads, a crimson banner whipped and flapped in the melody – Bêlit's battle standard.

"Guess that's a fight, then," Lightning said.

()()()()()()()()()

The _Argus_ continued to attempt to outrun the _Tigress_. This, it soon became clear, was a mistake. Lightning had been a member of the Cocoon Guardian Corps, but even she, with her non-existent experience of the navy, could tell that the _Tigress_ was the faster vessel. Ultimately, the only effect of fleeing was that the _Tigress_ had another few minutes before she reached her enemy, during which she could leisurely lob projectiles at her prey.

"Incoming fire!" Lightning shouted. With a sickening whistling sound, jets of blue flame began raining down upon the crew of the Argus, the sailors screaming and panicking as they were skewered and transfixed.

Bounding to the stern and taking what pitiful cover she could, Lightning reached to her waist and withdrew her blade. With a mental command, an orb of magical energy began forming in her free palm, and Lightning lobbed it at her pursuer.

The first Ruin spell knocked a bull man clean off the _Tigress_' deck. He plunged into the ether, and Lightning didn't even want to imagine what would become of him. The second struck a serpent man full in the chest, and he toppled backwards, initiating a hugely-satisfying domino effect as Bêlit's men dragged each other to the ground. Still, the enemy's fire continued to come. At least two dozen corpses littered the deck of the Argus. Flaming blue arrows continued to fall from the sky, and here and there fires were beginning to break out, sailors scurrying about to try to extinguish them, and getting impaled for their trouble. Lightning loosed a third spell; it exploded harmlessly against the _Tigress_' side.

"Stop the ship, and meet them head on!" Lightning bellowed. "It's no use running! We have to fight them!"

A moment passed, and then Lightning glanced backwards. Another six crewmen had fallen. The captain was propped up against a corner, a burning arrow in his skull.

()()()()()()()()()()()

When the _Argus_ was finally within throwing range, the raiders tossed grappling hooks, and the fate of her crew was sealed.

Bêlit's troops leapt onto the deck, and began hacking and slashing and pounding and bludgeoning anything within reach. The Argus was a merchant vessel, not a warship. Some of the crew fought bravely, others huddled fearfully in the shadows, but Bêlit's men were ruthless either way. Lightning could hear the Siren shrieking and screaming, somewhere on the vessel, and then a knife was pulled across her throat, and it took a few moments for her to become silent.

Lightning's thumb brushed against a button. Her gunblade began shifting and reordering itself, motors whirring and panels sliding into place. When the transformation was complete, she raised her weapon, and placed a finger on the trigger.

The ideal soldier utilizes the perfect mixture of instinct and analysis.

Lightning depressed the gunblade trigger three times in rapid succession, and three bullets thudded into three separate foreheads, blood blossoming outwards from the gory holes that they had created. That was instinct.

Lightning noted that around six raiders were positioned on the _Argus'_ starboard side. That was analysis. She reached to her belt, found a grenade, removed the pin, released the catch, and propelled the grenade into the raiders' midst. That was instinct.

Lightning dodged around a pile of crates to shelter herself from the explosion, and briefly covered her ears to protect her hearing. That was also instinct.

Lighting noted that about forty raiders had crowded onto the _Argus,_ and were fencing her in. She also noted that about a hundred raiders still remained on the _Tigress._ Further, she took note of the fact that if she wasted her time with the raiders on the _Argus,_ she would have less energy and stamina to engage the raiders on the attacking vessel. This was all analysis.

Lightning leapt onto a handrail. She waited a few seconds – waited for the ebbing of the ocean to pull the two ships slightly apart. When this happened, one of the ropes that held the two vessels together became completely taut. Lightning pranced onto the makeshift tightrope, and dashed across to the deck of the _Tigress._ This was all instinct.

Lightning was surrounded by a hundred raiders. She knew that if she could seriously injure one raider – critically, grievously injure him, leaving him lying on the deck, screeching and bleeding – other raiders would be momentarily fazed and afraid. Their hesitation would lend Lightning her next valuable opening to attack. This was all analysis.

Lightning lunged at one of the pirates – a snakeman, seven foot tall. She punctured his left eye, and lopped off his tongue, and dodged a desperate swing, and severed the tendon in his right foot, and opened up his belly as he crashed to the deck. This was all instinct.

The raiders recoiled in horror. They were startled, and bewildered, and uncertain, and afraid. This was all analysis.

Lightning rushed at another pirate, a lobsterman with enormous red claws. She plunged her gunblade into his chest, and pushed the trigger. This was instinct.

One of Bêlit's men smashed their clubs into Lightning's back. She stumbled forward, winded, and then curled into a roll, tumbling around and crouching to face her attacker. This was also instinct.

Lightning leaped forward, and opened up a gaping wound in a raider's chest as his mallet was still raised in the air. This was also instinct.

One of Bêlit's men managed to loop his arms around Lightning's torso. She allowed him to take her weight, delivering nimble kicks to the chins of two of his comrades, and then headbutted him in the nose, and whirled around, slashing him with her blade. This was also instinct.

Lightning severed a dog-headed creature's arm, and then embedded his axe in the temple of another raider dangling from the rigging. This was instinct.

Lightning dodged between the legs of an eagle man, and then slashed him across the back of his knees. This was instinct.

Lightning leapt onto the shoulders of a lumbering giant, emptied a shell into his skull, and then guided his falling carcass onto one of his hapless crew mates. This was instinct.

A raider slashed Lightning's back, and with a snarl she hacked off the top segment of his cranium. This was instinct.

A thrown bottle exploded on Lightning's head, shards of glass lodging themselves in the flesh, and she screamed and sent a fireball splashing over a gigantic ant. This was instinct.

Lightning's muscles were aching and her wounds were throbbing, and each time she swung her gunblade she roared and thundered to lessen the pain. This was instinct.

Lightning dashed up a wall and somersaulted through the air, so that she would have time enough to reload her weapon. This was instinct.

Lightning broke her left wrist punching an owl-faced opponent, and so kicked him instead. This was instinct.

Lightning yelled and pushed all of her body weight into a swipe, and decapitated a wolfman. This was instinct.

"_Enough!"_

The fighting stopped. The raiders' weapons froze in the air, swords and spears and spikes and lances, a forest of sharp tips hovering inches from their opponent. Lightning was breathing in ravenous, frantic gulps, blood trickling down her face and staining her clothes. Her hands were trembling, the gunblade shaking in her grasp. Her legs were becoming unsteady.

Lightning gazed into the pirates' eyes. Strange. The bodies of their friends and companions lay strewn about, but Lightning saw no hatred in their expressions, nor wrath, nor anger, nor fear. An unnerving stillness reigned in the minds of these raiders; they lived lives of bloodshed and insanity, but there was nothing in their heads but peace.

The crowd parted, and a figure stepped into view.

"You gotta be kidding me," Lightning groaned.

Bêlit was pale, strikingly so, and an abundance of rich black hair fell about her shoulders and down to her waist. She wore gold, and jewels, and lengths of silk, and the longer Lightning gazed at her, the more she realized that the purpose of these effects was to guide the eyes of others along the lines and contours of her form. Bêlit was youthful, and supple, and unblemished; she was surrounded by deformed, disfigured savages, but Lightning could not find a single scratch or scar on her.

The eyes of Bêlit's minions were icy, and quiet, and lifeless. When Lightning peered into Bêlit's eyes, however, she saw nothing but fire, and hunger, and passion, and jealousy, and possessiveness. Bêlit was fury, and lust, and vengeance, and fleeting, fickle obsession, and at that moment, all her attention, all of her thought, was focussed entirely upon this remarkable enigma that had slaughtered her crew.

"Who are you?" she breathed, her voice faint with wonderment.

Indignation and disgruntlement flared up inside Lightning. "I was a passenger on that ship that you attacked!" she spat. "You killed all those people!"

Bêlit shook her head. "No," she said. Bêlit drew closer. She paid no heed to Lightning's sword, thick as it was with the blood and viscera of her crew. Her thigh brushed against the blade as she came close, and she searched Lightning's eyes. "Who are you, truly? By Ishtar, I've never seen your like. I've travelled the Veil, up and down and far and wide, but I have never encountered a creature such as you. Where are you from?"

For some reason, Lightning's resolve faltered. She did not respond with an insult. She did not attack this woman, though she knew that soon she would lose the opportunity. She simply sighed. "Cocoon," she said. "My name's Lightning. I'm from Cocoon."

Bêlit's forehead creased in confusion. "Cocoon?" she said. "Strange that a realm which puts forth such _remarkable_ warriors has escaped my notice."

Lightning flicked a glance towards the stern. The rear of the _Tigress_ was covered by an enormous black canopy, the Queen's throne obscured by shadows. It was then that Lightning realized: Bêlit had been watching her fight.

Lightning spoke again, though she wasn't sure why. "Ummm...I spent a few years' service in...Valhalla."

The fire in Bêlit's eyes leapt and climbed and rose to the sky. "_Valhalla!"_ she cried. "You are a Valkyrie! A servant of the goddess Etro!"

Bêlit threw her arms wide. "Behold, Lightning!" she said, circling around her captive. "I am Bêlit, Queen of the Black Veil! My stories are told in every tavern in every port in the multiverse. My name is on the tip of every tongue of every sailor that braves these ghostly seas. Oh, angel of Etros, you are as fierce and frightening as your name suggests! You are the finest prize I have ever claimed, reaving these oceans. You are the most magnificent spoils I have ever won."

At about that time, the raiders had begun to carry crates from the Argus. All of the crew had been slaughtered, by now. Bêlit put a fingertip to Lightning's cheek, and regained her attention.

"Over the years, I have sent countless men to the Beyond," she said. "To whichever underworld they believed in. But you...you are far too glorious to be squandered. Far too splendid to be lost. You are _mine_, Lightning. Mine to do with as I please. But you are different than all the others I have vanquished."

Bêlit paused a moment, and Lightning realized that she was trying to regain her own composure. Her breathing had become fluttery and unsteady. Her pale skin was flushed in places. Bêlit licked her lips and swallowed, and when she spoke next, it was in a whisper, so that only Lightning could hear.

"I claim you for my own," she said. "I will glorify you. I will venerate you. Become my consort. Become my queen. _We will rule the Black Veil together._"

Lightning held Bêlit's gaze for a moment, and then looked about. All the raiders were staring at her. Lightning looked into their faces, one after another. Still no rage, still no emnity. No envy or resentment, either – they seemed strangely accepting of the possibility that their enemy was about to steal their queen.

None of them seemed to be fighting back laughter, either, so Lightning supposed she should rule out the possibility that this was all an utterly bizarre, sick joke.

Three minutes had passed since the fighting had ceased. All the adrenaline had drained from Lightning's body. She was covered in her own blood, her arms and legs felt like lead, and her gunblade was as heavy as a boulder. She cocked her head, and gave a grim little smile, and then turned back to Bêlit.

"Okay," she said.

**Chapter Two will be uploaded leisure time and inspiration permitting.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Lightning and Final Fantasy XIII are the intellectual property of Square Enix. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Bêlit was created by Robert E. Howard in his 1934 Conan the Barbarian story, Queen of the Black Coast. **

**Chapter 2**

Bêlit was a worshipper of the deity Ishtar. Ishtar was a goddess of war and blood, life and death, sex and desire. Ishtar was a lustful goddess, who often coveted the mates and lovers of others, mortal and divine alike. Ishtar was a greedy, avaricious goddess, driven by jealousy. Ishtar was a fickle, selfish goddess, who held grudges for millennia and perceived slights in the most innocent, unassuming remarks.

Little wonder, then, that Bêlit was devoted to her.

Lightning...well, it was not quite correct to say that Lightning _worshipped_ Etro. Make no mistake – there was much about Etro that Lightning found..._admirable_. _Estimable. Worthy._ Etro was kind. Etro was compassionate. Etro could not abide the suffering of the weak and powerless. Etro did her best to provide a glimmer of hope to those in misery and despair. When Etro summoned Lightning to represent her in Valhalla, Lightning had been happy to act as the goddess' protector, to defend her from the onslaught of chaos.

But she did not _worship_ her.

For almost all her life, Lightning had served the fal'Cie. She would never be a servant again.

One day, a struggle took place between the goddesses Ishtar and Etro, a struggle brought about by two of their favoured mortals.

When Lightning had agreed to become Bêlit's living trophy, Bêlit had ordered her shaman, N'Yaga, to tend to the numerous wounds that she had incurred in her defence of the _Argus._ Lightning had sat at the stern, the wizened, venerable bull-man wordlessly covering her cuts and injuries with herbs and paste, and watched as the raiders removed the final pieces of cargo from their stricken quarry. When the task was finished, N'Yaga was dismissed, and Bêlit settled herself next to her soon-to-be queen.

"The storm has died in your eyes, Valkyrie," Bêlit said, peering at her intently. "You fought so bravely this day. Have your wounds sapped all the strength from you?" Bêlit made a great show of seeming thoughtful, and then she laughed wickedly, and gazed hungrily at her. "What arts must I employ to inflame your spirit once more, I wonder?"

The sky darkened, and the wind strengthened almost imperceptibly. Every soul on the _Tigress_ could smell the storm that had somehow managed to sneak up on them.

Lightning sighed. She'd had her little rest.

Lightning and Bêlit toppled over the side of the _Tigress_, and plunged into the ocean. Lightning's arm was coiled tightly around Bêlit's throat, Bêlit's nails digging unpleasantly into her skin. "Faithless wretch!" were the last words Bêlit managed to scream before she plummeted into the waves. "Slay her! Slay her!"

Bêlit's crew rushed to the starboard rail. Some were of a mind to dive in, and attempt to rescue their queen. Some were of a mind to throw down ropes and ladders. Others had hold of guns and spears, and were determined that Lightning would spend the rest of eternity bobbing lifelessly through the Black Veil. It made no difference either way. Etro had seen that her knight was in peril. Etro had come to offer what help she could.

At Etro's command, the storm whipped to life, rocking the _Tigress_ back and forth across the waves, Bêlit's raiders stumbling and staggering around the deck, grasping for something solid to grab hold of so that they did not slip and fall into the depths. Cries went out to furl the sails and tie down anything that might be loose.

In the water, Lightning and Bêlit fought and struggled. Lightning's arm was looped around Bêlit's neck, and however much Bêlit scraped and scratched, and beat with her fists, Lightning would not release her. The two thrashed and wrestled, slowly sinking together into the freezing depths.

Lightning knew that she was going to die. She knew that she was going to drown, far from home, in this desolate, unfamiliar ocean. She knew that Serah would never know what had become of her sister.

It was all right. At least she was able to take this crazy woman with her.

Sensing the distress of her servant, the goddess Ishtar turned her attention to the Black Veil, and found Bêlit descending into watery blackness. Calming the waves, she stilled the _Tigress_ somewhat, allowing the raiders to regain their balance, allowing them a few precious moments to attempt to save their mistress.

Etro instilled the storm with strength and fury. Harsh rains lashed the _Tigress_, and the raiders slipped and slid across the deck, roaring and bellowing, ropes and torches flying from their grasp. A merciless wind battered the vessel, and Bêlit's creatures were forced to expend all their power and effort on simply remaining upright, never mind helping their ruler.

Ishtar made the water somehow more buoyant, and Lightning and Bêlit floated and sank above and below the surface of the waves, relentlessly striking and clawing at one another.

Etro sent a bolt of lightning streaking down from the skies, incinerating a ram-headed creature taking aim at Lightning with his enormous crossbow.

Ishtar tore an opening in the storm clouds obscuring the sky, a shaft of light falling from the heavens and illuminating the region of water where Lightning and Bêlit were fighting.

Etro sent in a thick, gray mist, and the raiders squinted through the fog, their narrowed eyes pattered with drizzle, unable to see more than a few feet ahead of them.

The deities Etro and Ishtar, locked in a celestial battle to decide the fate of their human charges.

Try to imagine two goddesses fighting over a pair of dolls, pulling and tugging them this way and that.

The water was cold. Sensation was fleeing from Lightning's body – she could not feel her fingers, or her toes, or her lips, or her nose, and when she tried to move her legs, the movement was stiff and imprecise. Bêlit continued to twist and turn, but even she was becoming weaker, more lethargic – the freezing ocean was dampening even the great anger that burned within her.

Lightning was weakening, but she knew that she would never let go. She knew that she take this _savage_, this _criminal_, this _pirate_ to the bed of the Veil. Lightning knew that she would die, but at least Bêlit had claimed her final ship. Lightning knew that she would die, but at least no more innocent people would fall foul of the _Tigress._

With a hideous cracking of wood, the _Argus_ upended and sank into the sea. As it descended towards the bottom, the passage of its great body created a pull in the water, and Lightning and Bêlit found themselves being sucked, pulled down with it.

With a cry of alarm, Etro made her last move.

()()()()()()()()()

Bêlit summoned every ounce of strength that existed in her body – and all she could do was roll onto her belly, and groan into the dirt.

_Sand._ Sand on her lips, and in her mouth, and on her tongue, and grinding between her teeth. Sand on her skin, and in her hair, and in the tattered, torn robes that hung from her shivering limbs.

_Water._ A sudden rush of water, surrounding her, immersing her, making her cough and splutter, and then vanishing just as quickly. Bêlit was on a beach somewhere. Somehow.

_Cold._ Bêlit was exhausted, and addled, and bewildered, but even in her debilitated state, she knew that her body had been subjected to a terrible ordeal. There was little time. She needed to find some place _dry._ Some place _warm._ She needed to cover herself with comfortable furs. She needed to put herself before an enormous, raging fire.

Cursing and groaning, Bêlit pushed herself to her feet, and began walking away from the ocean. Her legs were unsteady. Her sandals had been lost to the waves. Her entire body was numb, and the lack of feeling in her toes made walking a lot more difficult than she cared for.

Her breathing was ragged. _Rattling_.

_I may develop a fever, before long,_ Bêlit thought. _I may have survived the ocean, but only by Ishtar's favour will I survive the coming days._

The skies were overcast, a gloomy shroud thrown over the land that stretched out before her. Ahead of her, Bêlit could discern the shape of rocks, and trees, and mountains. This was not a welcoming realm. This was not a hospitable realm. Bêlit hissed, and grumbled to herself. She was a queen, a pirate, a ruler of the seas. She was _not_ an explorer. She had neither the humour or inclination to investigate unknown territory.

Lightning's face floated up to the forefront of Bêlit's mind.

As she staggered away from the water, Bêlit grimaced, and clenched her fists, and ground her teeth.

When Etro's Knight had appeared before her on the seas, a series of visions had blossomed in Bêlit's head.

Bêlit had fantasized about outfitting her Valkyrie in an endless succession of colours and armours and liveries and uniforms.

Bêlit had fantasized about sending her Valkyrie to sack villages and cities, to sink ships and slay immense monsters of the deep.

Bêlit had fantasized about bringing her Valkyrie to the fabled Pirate Courts of the multiverse, the other Lords of the Veil gazing with fear and wonder and admiration and jealousy – Bêlit would _so_ _very much_ savour the jealousy – at her proud, stately queen.

Bêlit had fantasized about the stories that would spread across the entire Black Veil, rumour and whispers and shanties and ditties and yarns and tales about the Devil Queen Bêlit, and the stern-faced warrior that she had stolen from a goddess.

Bêlit did not realize that her eyes were blazing. Bêlit did not realize that her feet were stomping, that little splashes of sand and water were being sent flying upwards each time she planted her soles on the beach. Bêlit did not realize that her breathing was coming in petulant, inelegant snorts.

Bêlit forgot that she was deathly cold. Bêlit forgot that she urgently needed to find shelter, and warmth. Bêlit forgot that she had almost drowned.

_Ingrate. Trickster. Betrayer. _

Bêlit heart beat faster and faster. A fire began to grown within her chest, an inferno of hatred and vengeance and affronted indignation. Her blood raced through her veins, carrying this hatred to every corner in her body; her arms, her legs, her fingers, her knees.

_Mongrel. Traitor. Thankless whore._

The tremble left Bêlit's legs, and where once she shambled and shuffled through the sand, now she stalked and prowled.

_Devil! Liar! Snake!_

The cold was gradually banished from her body. Her strength was returning.

Bêlit came to a sudden stop. She stood ramrod straight on the beach, lips pressed tightly together, balled fists at her waist, a dark fury in her eyes.

Bêlit was about to throw a tantrum. The Queen of the Black Veil was about to have a screaming fit, and although any civilized individual would doubtlessly find this immature, unseemly, undignified, and, above all else, _unqueenly_, there were two very important mitigating considerations.

One, there was no one around to witness such mortifying behaviour.

Two, Bêlit's all-consuming rage and fury had likely saved her from death by pneumonia.

Bêlit screamed. Normally, such paroxysms would be accompanied by violence, but, alas, there was nothing around to clobber and brutalize, at that moment, except for sand and seashells.

"Did I ruin your day?"

Bêlit turned around, and her nose crumpled beneath Lightning's fist.

There _was_ a witness, after all.

()()()()()()()()()()

Lightning was utterly fatigued. She had engaged in battle, single-handedly, against an entire crew of raiders. She had fallen into the ocean, and been carried along by the currents – how long she had been travelling, and what distance she had come, she could not even guess.

It made no difference. Rest was a luxury she did not have.

Lightning was extremely grateful that she had been able to take Bêlit by surprise. She would be forever thankful for the fact that Bêlit was apparently demented enough to have a tantrum in the middle of a strange landscape with no knowledge of possible surrounding threats. Lightning was running on fumes, and she felt as though her muscles had been replaced by cotton, but at least she had the element of surprise.

Bêlit was a capable sorceress. Snarling with rage, abhorrence in her eyes, blood gushing from her nose, she flung waves of fire, lightning, ice and wind at her foe, her magic lent further strength by the bile in her throat and the searing glow at the back of her head. Luckily, while Bêlit had been occupied with making a scene on the beach, Lightning had armoured herself with an array of protective magics – barfire, barfrost, barthunder, barwater, shellra. Bêlit's spells had some effect, but Lightning was able to shrug the damage off. For now.

_Keep close,_ Lightning told herself. _Close in. Don't let her get any distance between us. You're stronger than she is. You're tougher than she is. _

_She's just a target._

Bêlit reached for the ornate dagger that she always wore at her waist. The scabbard was empty. It seemed the ocean had claimed her weapon, along with her footwear.

Lightning's knee connected with Bêlit's sternum. A right to the temple, a left to the jaw, and then Bêlit was sprawled on the sands, out for the count.

Lightning straightened, and her spine gave a satisfying _crack._

She needed that.

()()()()()()()()()

When Serah and Lightning were little girls, they heard stories about the primitive people of Gran Pulse.

They believed every word.

They believed that Pulsians practised cannibalism. They believed that Pulsians were practitioners of witchcraft. They believed that Pulsians wore loincloths and headdresses, and painted their bodies, and stuck bones through their noses and ears. They believed that Pulsians led raiding parties to neighbouring villages, and made slaves of all the women and children, the men left with their hearts ripped out and their skulls caved in with rocks.

Eventually, Serah and Lightning became women, and agreed that these stories were _probably_ nonsense.

And then they met Oerba Dia Vanille, and Oerba Yun Fang, and Noel Kreiss, and wondered how they could ever be so _gullible_, so _naive._ The people of Pulse were noble, and loyal, and kind – no different than the citizens of Cocoon. How _foolish_ Lightning had been, to believe those ridiculous stories about brutal, cruel, bloodthirsty barbarians.

But what to make of _this_ woman, then?

As a traveller across the multiverse, Lightning had come to be prepared for many contingencies. Though much of her belongings were lost on the Argus, she happened to have a length of durable cord on her person; this cord was now looped around Bêlit's wrists, restraining her. Lightning had forced her to sit cross-legged on the sand. Bêlit glowered at her captor, the intense loathing in her face amplified by the dried blood caking her mouth and jaw.

"Even as we speak," Bêlit spat, "my men are searching for me! The _Tigress_ will scour every shore, every bay, every little pool of water for me, and when they find us..."

Here, Bêlit began cackling viciously. Insanity danced in her eyes.

"...oh, _a much different fate awaits you, now!_ Much unlike the destiny I offered you before!"

Lightning stood a safe distance from her prisoner. There was determination in her eyes, and firmness, and resoluteness...but also, it must be said, a hint of _unease._ Lightning was _spooked._ How could she not be?

Here, hunched on the ground before her, was the Pulsian savage.

Here, bound in rope and hurling curses and threats her way, were all the frightening stories that Lightning and her sister had been told when they were children.

Bêlit. The Queen of the Black Veil. The most feared pirate of the spirit oceans. The sorceress acolyte of an uncivilized, warlike goddess.

Lightning examined her captive. Bêlit's outfit, sodden and torn though it was, had once been exquisite and extravagant. Robes of silk and velvet, painstakingly crafted and embroidered with gold thread. A necklace, and bracelets, and armlets, and hairpins, all expertly made.

All stolen, plundered from helpless victims.

Bêlit dressed herself in jewels and finery, but Lightning had seen her _crew._ Bêlit's minions betrayed the true savagery of what she was. Brutes and thugs. Beasts and primitives. Creatures with rotting teeth and missing fingers and wooden legs and eyes dulled by lifetimes of violence and desperation. Criminals with clubs in their hands, and axes, and hammers, and knives, and spears. Pirates who stole from decent men and women, and then squandered their ill-gotten gains, drinking it all away in taverns, and gambling it all away in dens, and screwing it all away in brothels.

When the _Tigress_ sailed out of the ocean mist, Lightning had watched, astonished, as all those childhood stories had come to life before her eyes. Did Bêlit's crew eat their victims, Lightning only half-jokingly wondered?

"Well?" Bêlit demanded. "Had your fill of staring at me, yet?" Slumped at Lightning's feet, there was an undeniable _challenge_ in Bêlit's posture. Bêlit was a savage...but now that she was a captive, did the savage have an expectation that savage things would be _done_ to her?

_When the Pulsians capture their enemies, they do such horrible things to them!_

_They put them in cauldrons of oil, and light a fire underneath._

_They shrink their heads, and hang them as trophies from their belts._

_They stake them to the ground, and cover them with honey, and then wait for the ants to come._

_Do you expect me to put you in a cauldron?_ Lightning wondered, as Bêlit glared at her. _I'm not supposed to cover you with honey, am I?_

There was _defiance_ in Bêlit's eyes. No matter what humiliation Etro's Knight would inflict upon her, she would not take her pride. Bêlit was Queen of the Black Veil! She would not surrender her dignity.

"You were going to make me your slave," Lightning said, coldly.

This caught Bêlit by surprise. _"My slave?"_ she spluttered. Bêlit looked about in amazement, as though in disbelief at what had just been said to her, and Lightning couldn't tell if she was hamming it up, or if she was _always_ this dramatic.

She had an inkling it was the latter.

"_My slave?_ You mean to _insult_ me, Valkyrie?" Even pushed to the ground, her arms tied behind her, Bêlit would lose none of her dark majesty, her twistedly regal bearing. Her breath was drawn from deep within her belly, and her voice was furious and sure. "Is that the respect you will accord the honour – the _privilege_ – of standing at my side? I am Bêlit of Shem, captain of the _Tigress_ and descendant of the kings of Askalon! Men fall at my knees on every coast and shore! I offer you the greatest gift that is within my power to grant, and this is how you repay me? _With betrayal and disloyalty!_"

A shadow fell over Bêlit, as Lightning loomed over her. When Lightning spoke, she couldn't quite keep the quiver from her voice. "Okay, _first_, stop calling me '_Valkyrie_'! My name is _Lightning_. Two, you're a _pirate_! You're a _criminal_! You killed all those people! You tried...you tried to make me your...your _sex slave!_"

"_I sought to make you my queen!" _Bêlit cried, in a tone of voice which seemed to suggest Lightning had indeed offended an entire nation. "The greatest honour you are likely to be offered in your pitiable life!"

Lightning gave a flabbergasted 'O' of amazement, and then dismissed Bêlit with a defeated wave. "Forget it," she said. "You're crazy."

Hands on her hips, Lightning peered about at their surroundings. The sky was heavy with clouds, and there was a fraught atmosphere, as though a torrential downpour was liable to break at any moment. What little light there was faded each minute – it would be dark, soon. They needed shelter, but there was nothing to see but rocks, and hills, and forests, and mountains. No sign of civilization at all – though, considering the _Tigress_ was possibly nearby, lurking the waters, Lightning supposed that wasn't entirely a bad thing.

She didn't want to endanger any more harmless civilians.

"Okay, Queen of the Black Veil," Lightning said, "where in your _kingdom_ are we?"

Bêlit gave the landscape a sullen glance. "This region is not familiar to me," she said, suddenly glum.

Lightning groaned. "Great," she said. "Okay, on your feet, _your majesty_. Make any trouble, and you can have our rematch with your hands tied."

Bêlit tarried on the ground a moment, Lightning impatiently clicking her fingers, and then she began climbing grudgingly to her feet. Head bowed, Bêlit tramped across the sand, Lightning marching behind her. They ventured inland. The world darkened, and if the _Tigress_ was out across the waves, they could not see her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Lightning and Final Fantasy XIII are the intellectual property of Square Enix. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Bêlit was created by Robert E. Howard in his 1934 Conan the Barbarian story, Queen of the Black Coast. **

**Chapter 3**

Lightning knew that humiliation was coming. She knew that embarrassment was not far ahead.

She tried to put it off. She tried to delay it as much as possible. Lightning pushed Bêlit through trees, and over rocks, and down hills, and into shadows. The pair travelled for two hours – ten miles, by Lightning's estimation. They were searching for food, for shelter, for any sign of civilization.

"It must amuse you greatly to lead me around at the end of leash like a _dog_," Bêlit might have said, if she had been a little less tired.

"If you were my dog I'd a taught you some manners," Lightning might have replied, if she had been a little less exhausted.

But neither of them said much at all. They were weakened, and weary. Their ordeal in the ocean had sapped all the strength from them. Lightning tread carefully through the terrain, eyes fixed on the shadows. If a threat suddenly appeared from the gloom, she was determined to be ready for it...but, _by Etro_, Lighting was tired. She was fatigued, and drowsy, and wished nothing more than to collapse on a bed and drift off to sleep.

This was not a soldier operating at optimum performance.

All the while, Bêlit trudged morosely ahead, her shoulders slumped, her head down. Not once did she fire taunts or insults at her captor – she hardly spoke at all. All the piss and vinegar that Lightning had seen on the _Tigress_ was gone, now.

Why did Bêlit seem so _subdued_, all of a sudden?

A thought occurred to Lightning. Earlier, Bêlit had promised Lightning that her crew would be scouring the shores in search of their queen, and when they found them, Lightning would be subject to the most _ghastly_ of tortures. But...had Lightning not _humiliated_ Bêlit? Had Lightning not taken advantage of Bêlit's pride – her ego, her vanity, her lust – and sent her tumbling inelegantly down into the waves? Had Lightning not shown Bêlit to be a _fool – _had she not _embarrassed_ the Queen of the Black Veil in front of her own subjects?

Would Bêlit command the same level of respect from her slaves, now that Lightning had humbled her before them?

Oh! In the ports and taverns of the Black Veil, would sailors and merchants tell stories of how Lightning had shown the fearsome Bêlit, captain of the _Tigress,_ to be a gullible, hormonally-driven idiot?

Lightning allowed herself a small smile.

And then Lightning remembered that she herself had a bout of humiliation in store, very soon...

()()()()()()()()()()

Enough was enough.

She had fought an entire host of beastly pirates. She had plunged into the freezing ocean, and been dragged _Etro knew_ how many miles through its depths and currents, before being washed up on an unfamiliar coast. She trekked for miles through a strange land, and discovered nothing of use. Lightning felt as though there were concrete blocks on her feet. The simple act of staying awake filled her with misery, and she could feel the world swaying beneath her feet as she walked.

It was time to rest.

What to do, then, with Bêlit?

While Lightning was sleeping, Bêlit would rip her throat out with her teeth. While Lightning was sleeping, Bêlit would take an ember from a campfire and press it into Lightning's eyes. While Lightning was sleeping, Bêlit would take a rock, and reveal Lightning's brains to the night sky.

When the pair finally stopped for the night, Lightning built a fire from sticks and branches that she had gathered along the way. Their clothes were damp from the sea, and the bitingly cold air was little use for drying, but Lightning had a solution; when she cast barfrost, she lost heat much more slowly than normal, and the heightened temperature of her body was able to evaporate all the dampness. Lightning decided to set up camp beneath a tall embankment; it offered shelter from the wind, and if a threat did come while they were sleeping, at least they could only be attacked from one direction.

Theoretically.

Hands on her shoulders, Lightning pushed Bêlit into a sitting position on the ground. She knelt next to her. "Look at me," she said.

Bêlit gave Lightning her full, undivided attention.

"I could dislocate your shoulders," Lightning said. "And your knees. That'd probably keep me safe until the morning. Then, when it's time to resume our travels, all I'd have to do is push the bones back into place. That'd be convenient for me. Perhaps not for _you_, though. Reckon you might have trouble sleeping, with your joints out of whack, huh?"

Bêlit bared her teeth, and her eyes flared in the darkness. Little dapples of moonlight flowed across her face, making her seem even more fearsome. "Do what you will, _Valkyrie_," she growled. "You may twist and disfigure my body however you wish, but you will never claim dominion over my _spirit_! I will defy you until my _dying breath!"_

Lightning gave an elongated _ugh_ of exasperation, and then she leaned in, until she was almost nose-to-nose with her prisoner, until the dim light was almost blacked out and there was nothing of her face but shadow. "You don't get to play the 'defiant prisoner', Bêlit," Lightning said, her voice low. "You're a _murderer._ You're a crazy criminal, and a few hours ago, you and your accomplices massacred an entire ship full of innocent people."

"They were _weak_, and we were _strong_!" Bêlit said. Her voice had lowered also. Lightning and Bêlit were hissing and snarling, inches from one another in this darkened forest, and not even the smallest, most discreet eavesdropper could hear what they were saying.

It was almost too dark for Bêlit to catch Lightning smirking at her. "You weren't strong enough to beat _me_, were you?" Lightning gripped the end of the cord that bound her captive, and yanked Bêlit's wrists forward. "Now, you're gonna do what I say, understand? You're gonna do what I say, and you're gonna do it _quietly, _and if you don't, _I'm gonna hang you upside-down from a tree, and then I'll rediscover the meaning of a good night's sleep!_ I'm not your _oppressor._ You're a violent thug, and I'm not gonna let you endanger me."

Lightning rose to her full height, and gazed down at Bêlit. "Stand," she commanded, her voice returning to normal volume.

Glaring fiercely at her captor, and not blinking once, Bêlit rose to her feet. Lightning privately marvelled at how like a panther in her movements Bêlit could be.

The cord went around Bêlit's waist, and then underneath her crotch, and then around her legs, and then through her legs, and then around her wrists, and up and down her arms, and over her shoulders, and across her chest, and around her throat. Lightning used every knot she had ever learned. Some of the knots she deliberately tangled – it would be a pain in the ass to unravel come morning, but it would be worth it for the extra security.

As the procedure went on, Bêlit's face grew more and more ashen, her expression more and more wretched, her demeanour more and more pitiable. Lightning knew what she was thinking. Imagine if her raider servants saw her now! Trussed and tied like a hunted animal! She would be a laughing stock, a punchline, a joke. What a sad end to such a frightening legend – sailors and merchants in inns and taverns telling tales of a foolish woman bound in rope.

"My spirit is my own," Bêlit said, almost too quietly for Lightning to hear. "Whatever indignities, whatever degradations you inflict upon my flesh tonight, _you will never conquer my soul._"

Lightning froze, then, and goggled at her prisoner. Bêlit was not staring at Lightning any longer – her eyes were fixed firmly on the ground. In the dismal light, Lightning thought she could see the slightest hint of _resignation_ in Bêlit's expression, a grim acceptance that she was about to be subjected to an unpleasant ordeal, and that there was little she could do but grit her teeth.

For a moment – for a fleeting moment – Lightning felt a twinge of _empathy_, of _sympathy._ For the briefest time, Lightning felt the instinctual urge to offer _reassurance_, to make clear that Bêlit would come to no harm.

And then the _Argus_ came back to her, and Lightning remembered the captain and his crew, all drenched in blood.

Lightning tugged the cord, and Bêlit was jerked closer. "Now you listen to me," she snapped, venom in her voice. _"I am not a monster._ I'm not a primitive. I...I am _a civilized woman!_ I come from an enlightened world, with laws, and morals! _You're_ the primitive! You're the savage! I am not going to rape you, Bêlit. _You were going to rape me!"_

The cord went around Bêlit's back, in between her knees, under her armpits. Gradually, all the dejection and sourness in Bêlit's expression was replaced by _astonishment_, and _bewilderment_, and a _definite_ suggestion of _affront. _

"_Rape you?"_ she said, her voice loud enough for every animal in the forest to hear. _"I offered you the crown of the Black Veil!"_

Lightning rolled her eyes. The cord went around Bêlit's ankles.

()()()()()()()()()()

When the job was done, Bêlit wobbled and wavered before her in one spot. Lightning was pretty sure that, even if Bêlit did manage to get away, she wouldn't get far, hopping her way through this landscape.

Lightning linked her arms around Bêlit's waist, and began lowering her to the ground. "I'm going to do you a really, _really_ big favour," she said, as they descended together towards the forest floor. "I'm going to let you _choose_. Which way do you prefer sleeping? On the side? On your back?"

Bêlit seemed to be giving Lightning the silent treatment. Lightning shrugged. "On the side it is."

With a deft flick, Lightning's cloak unfurled in the air, and settled upon the pair, covering them both. Lightning pushed her hands underneath Bêlit's armpits, and then interlocked her fingers just at her bosom. She tossed her left leg over Bêlit's waist, and then buried her face in the area behind Bêlit neck.

_I'm spooning with a barbarian witch queen,_ Lightning thought. _Great._

"You're probably flexible enough to wriggle your way out of all these knots," Lightning said, murmuring into Bêlit's hair. "But I think I've made it complicated enough that it'd take you about a half hour. You have no way of freeing yourself without me noticing. _If you try to escape, I'll know._ Now, what you need to understand about me is that I tend to be at my grouchiest when I'm _sleep-deprived_." Here, Lightning allowed the silence of the woods to linger for a few moments. "So if you want tomorrow to go by as painlessly as possible, it's probably in your best interests to let me rest. Don't disturb me. Just keep tight, and go to sleep. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

The leaves rustled, and the wind blew, and strange animals signalled in the darkness, and Lightning waited for a response from her captive, but none came. Eventually, she lowered her head into the improvised pillow that was her rucksack, closed her eyes, and waited for sleep to come.

And then Bêlit spoke again. "Lightning," she said.

Lightning did not open her eyes. "Yes," she replied, with consternation.

All the fight had gone from Bêlit's voice. "When I offered you my hand as queen," she said, "I..."

Bêlit faltered. The silence stretched on, and Lightning opened her eyes, and waited for her to continue.

"It seems I did not make clear my..._regard_...for you," Bêlit said, at last. Bêlit was tired. Very tired. "I would defeat you in battle, and I would claim you as a prize, but I would never...I would never divest you of your _pride._"

Lightning peered into the shadows. She wasn't sure what Bêlit expected her to say.

"I would never divest you of your pride."

()()()()()()()()()()

When morning came, Lightning's throat had not been torn out. Her eyes were still in good working order. Her skull was intact.

Bêlit was still lying next to her. Emerging from sleep, it took Lightning a few moments to remember in whose company she was.

Lightning gazed at the abundance of black hair before her, and groaned in dismay.

()()()()()()()()()

From the moment they were washed ashore, to the moment they settled down to sleep, Bêlit had generally been muted and uncommunicative.

Now that Bêlit was fully rested, however, the fire inside her had leapt back to life.

First, Lightning was required to undo all the knots with which she had restrained her prisoner. For a full hour, Lightning was bent over Bêlit's sitting form, tugging at ends and picking at clumps, Bêlit mocking and chiding and taunting her every second that passed.

"Oh, I once admired you so!" she trilled. "I was so captivated by your _strength_, your _skill_, your _poise_! Alas, now that illusion is shattered! Your wits aren't the _sharpest_, are they? If you had been an _intelligent_ warrior – a warrior worthy of Etro – you would have been able to bind me in an unfathomably complex network of knots, all of which would have come apart with the merest pull of a particular string. Regrettably, you'll never be renowned for your _intelligence_, will you?"

Such a fantastic way to begin the day.

Next, Lightning needed to find breakfast for the both of them. She tied Bêlit to a tree, and then set off through the woods, searching for fruit, or mushrooms, or some animal that she could

"_Hah!"_ Bêlit crowed, her voice loud and belligerent, finding Lightning through the trees and foliage, wherever she happened to be. "You have bound my arms, you have isolated me from my crew, and yet _still_ you serve me! Carry on, servant! Fetch your queen her breakfast!"

Lightning groaned. If she happened to find mushrooms, she was testing them on Bêlit first to see if they were poisonous.

Eventually, Lightning returned with a bundle of fruit piled in her arms. For variety, there were large grub-like creatures that she had scooped out of a cavity in the side of a tree.

Bêlit had a ravenous appetite. With eager fingers, she shovelled the grubs into her mouth. She gorged herself on the fruit, biting and munching and chewing, her lips and teeth smearing with red, juice trickling down her jaw and dripping from her chin.

Lightning watched from the corner of her eye. She watched, and Lightning knew that Bêlit knew she was watching.

Was Bêlit's entire life a performance?

How did Bêlit behave when she believed that the eyes of others were not upon her?

()()()()()()()()()()()

The forest was vast, and Bêlit's constant snipes and barbs did not help with the passing of time. The pair walked for hours and hours, and not once discovered any signs of intelligent creatures inhabiting the woods – no cabins, no little cottages, no villages, no vessels drifting down rivers.

Sometime in the late afternoon, Bêlit turned, and viewed Lightning askance. "What are your _intentions_, Valkyrie?" she said.

Lightning seemed almost wistful. "Getting away from you, as far as I can."

Bêlit gave a snort of derision. "And so you keep me in bondage, and guide me about as though I were your hound?"

"I'm not _stupid_, Bêlit," Lightning said. "You're _nuts_, and if I let you go – not to say that I wouldn't like the peace and quiet – you'll be hiding around in the shadows, or in the undergrowth, waiting for your chance to cut my throat."

"I do not skulk in the muck, Valkyrie, any more than you do. If you release me, I would regain my strength, and confront you in plain sight."

"Yeah, yeah," Lightning said, scanning the near-distance.

Another few paces, and then Bêlit spoke again. "When you are rid of me," she said, her attentions not turning from the way ahead, "what then?"

Now a faraway look came across Lightning's face. "I'm going to continue my journey home," she said.

"Ah, yes. You mentioned your world's name, what was it...Pulse, was it? Tell me of your world."

There may have been a few people in the multiverse that Lightning was willing to give free history lessons; Bêlit was not one of them. "It's seen better days," she said, simply.

"Do you have a family in Pulse? A mother and father? Brothers and sisters? A husband? _A wife?"_

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Bêlit cackled, and peered at Lightning with a scandalous glint in her eyes. "Do you imagine me _jealous_?"

"No," said Lightning, returning her gaze. "I imagine that you're crazy enough to go after _them_, when you realize you can't beat _me_."

This gave Bêlit food for thought. "Perhaps I am," she said. "I would have to be quite _obsessed_ with you to hunt after your family though, wouldn't I?"

Then the trees thinned out, and Lightning and Bêlit found themselves in a clearing.

In the centre of this clearing was a sculpture.

Sometime in the not-at-all distant past, an artist had taken tools – hammers, and chisels, and picks, and scalpels, and saws, and blades – and carved an image from a lump of material.

The sculpture was floating in the middle of the clearing, now. It had been suspended in the air, about fifteen feet above the ground, by ropes tied to trees.

The sculpture was not carved from stone.

The sculpture was not carved from wood.

The sculpture was not carved from mud, or clay, or ice, or metal, or plastic.

When she first saw the sculpture, Bêlit's pace slowed to a halt. Lightning noticed that she had stopped, and then she saw the sculpture, also.

The two women slowly crossed the clearing, drawing as close to the carving as they found comfortable. Bêlit ventured the furthest; a tug of the cord, and she was pulled back. Lightning had gone white, her eyes wide and horrified, her mouth twisted in a sickened grimace. Bêlit peered with detached fascination at the pool of dried gristle that had collected beneath the piece.

A cloud of flies buzzed around the shape.

"Monstrous," Bêlit whispered.

"Well," Lightning muttered. "This, uh...this changes things."


End file.
